A Girl of Action
by Glideer
Summary: "I kept this special place just for him, like a 'Reserved' sign on a quiet corner table in a restaurant."
1. Chapter 1

I ran.

I ran for my life. Or, at least, for what I wanted my life to become.

I ran through the early Chiba Saturday morning, through a park and past opening food stalls, merchants nodding and waving. They all know me, after four years of passing them by every day, in every kind of weather. In the beginning, a petite black-haired girl running at sunrise attracted a lot of attention, people wanted to talk, offer me tea or juice. I never stopped, only smiled and waved. You will never reach the finish line if you stop to chat. After four years of running, I still don't know if I am any closer to my goal. But I know that if I stop it will remain forever out of my reach.

As always, I pause in front of the last big shop window, gasping for air, the shirt plastered to my torso. Not much longer to go. His street is just up the hill. I check the reflection again. My body is in perfect form, as perfect as regular running and exercise can make it. I don't really care about looks, mine least of all, and I suspect he doesn't either, but being attractive never hurt anybody's chances, and I swore long ago not to miss a single opportunity. I've been dealt a good hand by genetics, and it would be a shame to waste it. Some things you can improve on, but halfway through the high school I grew terrified of remaining as flat as a Yukinoshita. I even worked part-time, saving money for a boob job, but in the end mother nature delivered, and generously.

I tug at the hem of my shirt once again and continue running.

The old neighbour smiles at me as I pound up the stairs to the apartment and I smile back. Everybody loves a nice, smiling girl. A lesson I learned from Yuigahama.

My hand trembles as I slide the key into the lock. He gave me the key! It has been six months, and still my mind shouts the same thing every morning. Embarrassing.

"Hachiman!" I yell. None of us is allowed to call him that but me.

"Wake up, you lazy slob! There is a whole world out there waiting to be seized!" I start making tea while he rustles in his room. The door opens behind me. "Rumi, you damned brat," I hear, and, through all defences carefully constructed over the years, something in me sings.

"I finished Alexievich's book last night. Usually, Nobel Prize winners are not my cup of tea," I say and he sniggers softly, forcing me to hide my grin, "but she was superb. The down-to-earth realism was really unexpected."

"Told you," Hachiman says smugly, and I turn to give him his cup. His eyes skip away from my torso expertly, while I smoothly avoid his gaze. We are both veterans at this game.

Hachiman hasn't changed at all since the first time I saw him in that stupid camp. Or, more likely, the first impression has merged with years of watching him into this picture firmly rooted in my mind. I can't even say whether it resembles the real Hachiman anymore.

He sips tea in his rumpled pyjamas while I update him on Service Club cases. The club numbers eight of us now, and there is so much work that I simply have to consult Hachiman every morning.

"You know that you are no longer the Service Club president," he says, his voice uncommonly gentle. "You are a university student now".

"I know, I know, I am not decrepit yet, like some harem pashas I could name," I shoot back. His smile stops well below his eyes. I put my feet up on his table and wait for the familiar flicker of annoyance. It comes, but it is barely noticeable. He is getting used to our dynamics, getting used to me, and I know I don't have much time before we settle in into just another of his twisted, familiar relationships.

"When are they coming?" Poking fun at them this way is cruel, like teasing a cripple, but it is how I show that I am not one of the three ensnared beauties. That I am not a competition.

"Yukinoshita and Yuigahama at ten, Miura has some meetings and will come later." Yukinoshita is always first in his mind. I wonder whether he notices that.

It is a strange ecosystem. It always was but has grown creepier over time. Those three have been orbiting Hachiman like some strange moons for six years now. Never quite touching, never quite leaving, always in his gravitational field. It was four of them in the beginning, but Isshiki managed to escape. Took her three attempts and something very close to a nervous breakdown before she succeeded. At least I think she made it. She never writes or calls.

The remaining three have everything. Successful, beautiful, bright young women, independent and determined, poster children for the Japanese education system. They share a genuine friendship, among themselves and with Hachiman, that very few people find in their lives. They all have good, rewarding jobs and are climbing the corporate ladder quickly.

All three are also obsessed with the same guy to the point where none of them have ever had a meaningful relationship. They are very popular, guys try to approach them all the time, but it never works out. Yuigahama is the boldest, she occasionally even entertains the idea of dating somebody, but always succumbs to the same crippling fear that grips the other two. The fear that they would lose their place in this weird, endless beauty contest with a single jury member. That Hachiman will finally make his move, and they won't be there to at least have a chance. In the meantime, they watch each other like hawks.

It is not easy for him, either. All his free time is monopolised by the three friends, and they are a terrifying obstacle for every new girl that tries to approach him. Yukinoshita's haughty barbs, in particular, have driven away in tears more than one aspirant. The only way a girl might get close to him is if she was not perceived as a rival. If, say, she was a much younger schoolgirl just looking for his advice and support, never showing the tiniest bit of affection.

Sometimes you can almost see the pent-up tension between them, emotional and sexual. Four young people in their early twenties living like monks is just not natural. Even I am feeling frustrated, and I am two years behind them in the whole "grit your teeth and bear it just a bit longer" business. I suspect that all of them have found ways to relieve at least a part of the tension on their own. Hachiman, at least, has an impressive hentai collection stashed away far from my prying eyes.

The whole setup seems like an excellent way to make everybody perfectly miserable and ultimately ruin their lives, but there is a solid core of logic in it. Hachiman, when you scratch his thin layer of cynicism, is a decent human being, selfless and committed, something you rarely see these days. Falling in love with somebody like that, strong and vulnerable and in obvious need of your help, is easy. I should know.

Hachiman also saved them all. He saved Yukinoshita from her loneliness and the clutches of her family, he saved Yuigahama from her empty life of a social clique hanger-on. Miura rarely speaks about it, but at some point during her first year at the university he saved her, too, from wasting her life on Hayama. And he keeps saving them, is always there to catch them if they fall. Having somebody like that in your life is a tremendous comfort.

Most importantly, Hachiman is just the perfect boyfriend material. Being with somebody that supportive, considerate, loyal and fun is every girl's dream of what a long-term relationship should look like. If you add the fact that all three are head over heels in love with him, it is no wonder that they are willing to wait for their chance at the closest thing the real-life gets to happily ever after.

I know I am no better than them. If anything, I am worse. At least lying to myself has never be one of my many faults. Instead of accepting that my early infatuation with Hachiman was just an impossible dream I allowed it to grow into a full-blown obsession. For years I used these repressed feelings to fuel an enormous effort, to read, exercise, train, discuss and model both my body and my mind into something that would be interesting and attractive to a single boy. I know it is not healthy, it is not ethical. It is far from what Hachiman would call 'genuine'. I don't even know whether I am a real Rumi anymore or just a persona I constructed out of his dreams that I was allowed to glimpse.

But I don't care anymore. I have been playing the role of an uninterested, sarcastic kid-sister for far too long to turn back now. The pressure is building up, and I know I can't continue to pretend for much longer. Fortunately, I don't have to. I am a university student, not a high-school brat anymore, and I can make my move. Hesitating now will only make me the fourth member of the group of ever-hopeful spinsters.

The only advantage I have over the other three is a ruthless will to act on my feelings.

"Rumi, could you pick up my books from the university library and drop them off here tonight?" Hachiman asks, looking past me through the window. Lately, we have been avoiding looking at each other even more than usual.

"No can do, old man. Busy tonight." I reply offhandedly.

"You? Busy?" He takes another sip of tea.

Perfect timing.

"Yeah. I have a date." I turn away so he can't see my smile while he coughs and splutters.


	2. Chapter 2

"You are going on a date with who?!".

This is the third time I hear the exact same sentence this morning and, despite the reaction being exactly what I hoped for, I can't suppress a flicker of annoyance.

"With whom."

"What?" Miura is thrown off-track, but she glares at me just in case. Behind her, hanging at the edges of the group, as always, Hachiman grins.

"With whom, not with who, Miura-senpai. And the answer remains the same. I will go out with Azuma Torio. At eleven tonight. He will meet me at Tsuga Station." Which is not really that far from here.

"You know he has a certain… unsavoury reputation," Miura is leading the charge now, with other three hanging back after previous failures. She cut her meetings short to come here when Hachiman called. Which is their relationship in a nutshell, really. But she is formidable in her business suit, and all her original fierceness that never faded away is now directed at me.

Yuigahama nods in support. "Azuma is a delinquent. He keeps dating girls, breaking up and dating new ones. Often forgetting to do the middle step. He was two years younger than us at the university, and I've never heard a good thing said about him."

"I asked around," Miura takes over smoothly. "He has been involved in more than a few fistfights with other students over girls, but it has been hushed up. Azuma is bad news all around."

"Boys are often misunderstood. You call them delinquents or creeps but when you get to know them you often discover they are quite likeable," I say dismissively, but Miura flinches hard. I must watch my tongue. I am starting to slip.

"Often they only just need a good woman to set them straight," I smile widely and guilelessly. I hope.

"How long have you known each other?" Yukinoshita has been holding back the whole morning. She watches me carefully and barely comments at all. Either she is actually glad I am interested in somebody outside this room or she suspects something. Knowing her, it is probably both.

"We talked yesterday for the first time." Yuigahama inhales sharply, but the Ice Queen doesn't look surprised at all.

"You must understand that he is hardly interested in your personality or taste in culture," she says. "The world is full of men who only see you for the beauty you are. Who defile you in their minds from the moment they set their eyes on you." Don't project your crazy on me, Yukinoshita.

"Y-yeah," Miura looks a bit uncomfortable but ploughs on. "He approached you just because you are already known for being the prettiest freshman. Azuma wants another trophy."

"That is all very flattering, but you are missing the point," I raise my eyes. It is Hachiman's reaction I am interested in but looking at him right now would be a bad mistake. "I am the one who asked Azuma out on a date."

Suddenly I can hear children playing outside quite clearly.

* * *

 _I pass a group of senior students, and I notice the echo of their steps slowing down behind me. It is not often that a junior year student comes to this part of the building. Azuma is ahead, leaning against the wall, and I head straight for him. He looks just like on social networks photos, handsome in a roguish sort of way, slightly too old to still be a student, but clinging on to the lie that is youth. Stop whispering in my ear, Hachiman. There is too much of you in my head as it is._

 _Azuma notices me approaching and gives me an open, appraising glance, his eyes sliding up my legs, stopping on my waist, breasts and, finally, my face. He finds something there that wipes his practised leer away._

 _"Azuma-san. Can I have a minute of your time?"_

 _"Of course, Tsurumi-chan. Whole days, if you want." He smiles again, but the easy confidence is not there anymore. We are different years, different buildings, different worlds. Yet Azuma knows my name, for some reason._

 _I wait, watching him calmly until he begins to fidget. He is tall, but so am I, and I hold his gaze until he looks away._

 _"Can I help you, Tsurumi-san?" That's better._

 _"Are you busy tomorrow night?"_

 _"N-no. I have no plans."_

 _"Good. I would like to have a date with you. The Tsuga Station main entrance, eleven o'clock, tomorrow evening. Please don't be late. I can't abide people being late." Not true. There is a person whose tardiness I find endearing. But that is one of the many things you don't need to know, Azuma-san._

 _I turn to leave. There is nothing to this dating stuff. I don't understand why people fret over it so much._

 _"What?! Wait!" I stop._

 _"I am sorry. Was that too much information for you? I can repeat it more slowly." Being nice to your date is important. Even if they are apparently intellectually challenged._

 _"I… no! No! Got it. Tsuga Station, eleven tomorrow. But…"_

 _"Excellent. I knew I was making the right choice, Azuma-san." He looks at me slack-jawed. I encourage him with what I am sure is a warm and kind smile before walking away._

* * *

The silence stretches on.

"You asked him out?" Miura's voice is incredulous. Me asking a guy out is not a miracle, you know? I am nineteen. If anything it is long overdue.

"It is the twenty-first century. A girl can approach a guy first," I retort. For some reason, Miura blushes at this, and I see both Yukinoshita and Yuigahama glance at her and then at Hachiman with what can charitably be described as hard-eyed suspicion.

"You inviting him is fine, Rumi," the main boss finally appears behind his minions. "We are not worried about that. But Azuma doesn't sound like the best choice for your first date. Or anybody's first date." Hachiman's eyes are kind and worried. A warm feeling tingles through me, but I ignore it. This is the last act of four years of obsessive effort, and I must not make a mistake now.

"Sounds to me like you are just not happy with me finding a boyfriend. I never took you for an emotional hoarder, Hachiman, but it seems you have a problem letting go of women in your life. You should really have somebody look into that." There is a series of gasps around the room, and Hachiman's face goes white with shock.

The accusation is so spectacularly unfair and cruel that my chest hurts too much to draw a breath. He has never shown any possessiveness, and I think he finds the very idea repulsive and alien. If we are being honest, Hachiman is really a victim of us four harpies, and of our terrible love. What he is guilty of is just caring for us too much to hurt us by action or word.

But I have to do this. I have to be callous to him in a way that nobody who loves him ever would or could. I've spent years proving that I don't care for him in that way and Yukinoshita's hard eyes are proof enough that I haven't been entirely successful. This is no time for weakness.

The colour comes back to Hachiman's face, but not all the way. He looks old, not like the unchanging high-school Hachiman of my mind at all. His eyes are deader than I've ever seen them. And this time it is nobody's fault but mine.

I coolly hold his gaze.

"Fine, Tsurumi," he says tiredly. He hasn't called me that in six years. "Do what you want. Just…" his eyes close, then open so devoid of expression that I can't stand it anymore and look away. "Just don't expect us to pick up the pieces." _Don't expect me to catch you when you fall._

"Hey, no hard feelings, old man, ok?" I jump nimbly to my feet, a wide smile firmly plastered on my face. "I will tell you everything tomorrow!" I wave to the room at large, and leave, perhaps a shade too quickly. Nobody says a word.

I jog down the stairs, run when I reach the street and am at a full-out sprint by the first corner. There are two perfectly rational reasons for this unseemly haste. One, I am almost certain that there is a law of physics that says that, if you run fast enough, memories of what has just happened will not be able to catch up with you. Also, if I keep on running I might be able to reach some place private before the tears I somehow still hold back start to fall.

* * *

I am the first to leave the café. It is almost midnight, and I use the opportunity to shed a bit of frustration by rolling my eyes.

The voice drones on behind me. "I have this Suzuki SV650, see, parked right there, which is a nice motorcycle and good enough for most men, but back home I have a GSX-R1000, and it is a real beast only I can tame. You need to ride it like a woman, you see…" Azuma stops, and you can almost hear him bite his tongue.

"I thank you, Azuma-san, for the drink and for the most enlightening conversation about motorcycles I have ever had." I even bow slightly.

His face alternates between suspicion and a smile and settles on the latter. "I didn't know you liked motorcycles. Another thing we have in common! I would be happy to show you how my Suzuki handles if you let me take you home!"

"I will be happy to, but a brief walk might help clear my head first. This evening is too pleasant to end just yet."

Azuma's hesitant smile looks out of place on his confident face. "I… enjoyed the evening, too. I must admit that it was unlike any of the dates I've ever had."

"I bet you say that to all the girls." I deliver a perfect sweet smile to accompany that saccharine statement. It must be less than perfect, though, since he just stares at me, mouth slack.

"It was the best date I ever had," I add, and this works better. He is back to smiling, and his arm creeps around my shoulder. I suppress a shudder and steer him gently towards the Kasorikaizuka Park.

The streets are almost empty, barring a few single figures, but the park is just plain empty, and that is what I need.

Azuma looks strangely hesitant, stealing a few sideway glances at me, but ultimately follows my lead and we pass under the trees. There is little light and plenty of shadows here, and it takes me a few minutes to find the perfect spot, a slightly neglected ginkgo tree with a wide trunk, a few fallen branches scattered about.

Azuma follows me as I walk to the tree, slowly turn around, lean on the trunk and look him straight in the eye. Again that hesitation that looks so unnatural in him, but my gaze does not waver, and he leans slowly into me.

I give him the gentlest of smiles and scream.

He recoils violently, almost falling down, eyes wide as saucers. I scream again and grab my shirt, pulling hard at the sides. It rips, together with the bra, precisely along the lines I perforated at home, almost down to my navel. It is, it was one of my best shirts, but clothes are really just a means to an end. Everything is these days.

Azuma looks at me in total shock, takes a step forward, sees my exposed breasts and takes a stumbling step back. I hear somebody approaching at a run, but I think Azuma is far past noticing such minor things.

A figure barrels into his back, takes him cleanly off the ground and they land together a few meters away. The man recovers first, sits on Azuma's chests, pummeling him clumsily, once, twice, three times. It doesn't last long, as Azuma recovers quickly and strikes back with far more effect. The man grunts and falls to the side, and it is Azuma now pinning him down.

I take an involuntary step forward, every fibre of my being screaming to help, but I know I can't. Not yet.

Azuma's fist connects with that precious face, and the pain he feels can never be a fraction of what I feel. But I wait. Azuma hits again. And again.

I step closer and swing a heavy tree branch, hitting Azuma cleanly in the back of his head. Hard enough to stun, and he rolls over, stands up and looks at me, eyes glazed with confusion, and violence, and fear.

"I suggest you run, Azuma-san," I say, not unkindly. And he does.

I turn around, breathing heavily, gripping the heavy branch for all I am worth. Hachiman is still down, his cloth rumpled and torn, soft light and shadow playing over his pale, sweaty face. Blood is trickling down his chin, and he looks up in a daze as I approach. My nakedness is unexpectedly embarrassing, but at some deeper level, I understand this is how it should be, how it is supposed to be. The only way.

Hachiman looks at me, and I look back and, for the first time in what feels like forever, he doesn't avert his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

"So this is what a date looks like?" I smirk and, incredibly, Hachiman laughs.

"You are asking a wrong guy." Now we are both laughing, and some of the tension is gone. Hachiman takes my hand, wincing while he stands up.

"Let's go to my place. It's actually just around the corner."

You don't say.

"Can I borrow your jacket? It might be a good idea if we want to avoid being arrested." For some reason, he blushes crimson. Now, after all that has happened.

He gives me the jacket without saying a word. As I zip it up, his lingering warmth envelops the goosebumped, bare skin of my breasts. _Oh._ My face must be redder than his.

We walk to his apartment in silence. Not the bad kind. When we arrive, I clean his scrapes and bruises, apply a few bandages. Azuma really did some damage. Hachiman winces occasionally, but the expression on his face is... more wistful than of pain.

"We should call the police," he says.

"No, we shouldn't. I am sure I've sent some wrong messages." If only you knew. "It seems my taste in men is less perfect than I thought. Nothing to be done but try again until I get it right." I look at him, my face carefully expressionless.

"You… you intend to try again?" I am not used to Hachiman avoiding eye contact. Not with me.

"What else is there to do? I am not going to wait for Prince Perfect to come charging on his white stallion. I've seen how that ends. An ok guy will be good enough for me." Now we are both avoiding each other's eyes. Great.

"Anyway, I should be going." I stand up.

"You are… you are welcome to stay." God, I can't stand this stilted conversation a minute longer. The silence was so much better.

"Thanks, Hachiman, but no. It would be… unpopular." He looks confused, and I wonder how a man so intelligent can be so dense about some things. I guess nothing is more difficult to believe than things we don't want to believe.

"Please text me when you arrive."

"Will do."

He escorts me to the door. I say my goodbyes, walk down the stairs, count to three hundred, and climb back. Slowly, I turn the key in the lock and creep inside.

"...she is ok. I think. You know what she is like. A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. There is no telling what she really feels."

…

"I wouldn't call it saving her. It was more of her saving me, really." Hachiman chuckles. "That creep was strong. You should have seen Rumi swing a branch. I am surprised she didn't bash his head in. The second coming of a warrior princess." There is a note of wonder in his voice.

…

"Well, you are wrong!" he doesn't sound so happy now. "Yes, I offered her to stay, but she refused! Really, Yukinoshita, your para…"

Hachiman sighs deeply.

"... your concern is sometimes excessive."

I pick up the bracelet from the floor, where it slipped off my hand when I was leaving, and close the door behind me quietly. I smile all the way home.

That little adventure killed our whole older brother - kid sister dynamics quite dead, I think. One windmill down, now tilting at the status quo.

* * *

Yukinoshita is a very busy woman, even this early in the morning. I have been waiting in front of her office for half an hour, people looking at me strangely as they pass by. You don't often see a college girl in running gear waiting for a meeting with one of the most promising young columnists in the country.

The door finally opens, and Yukinoshita comes out, looking at me over the rim of some old, beaten-up pair of glasses. Strange. This is the first time I have seen her with glasses.

"Tsurumi-san, I apologise you had to wait. Please come in." She doesn't look very sorry, but then I didn't expect her to. We are too similar to like each other.

I walk into a small but obsessively tidy office. I have never visited Yukinoshita at work before and, after today, I don't expect I will have another opportunity.

"I will keep this short, Yukinoshita-senpai." Mercifully short.

"You are probably aware of what happened last night." Her eyes reveal nothing, but she nods almost imperceptibly.

"My judgement was faulty. You were right, and I was wrong," I incline my head modestly. "But I will do better next time. I intend to ask Hachiman out." You can see a double wince in Yukinoshita's face, one when I call Hachiman by name, followed immediately by a full-fledged flutter between surprise and… fear?

Yukinoshita has always been the closest to Hachiman. Always the smartest of the three. Hachiman is a sucker for brains, not legs, sorry Miura, or breasts, sorry Yuigahama. But Yukinoshita never acted. If there is one thing I learned from her, from all three of them, it is not to listen to your fear. My chances might be minuscule compared to these talented, beautiful, smart women who have been close to him forever, but I will roll the dice no matter how bad the odds might be.

I feel a flicker of guilt looking at Yukinoshita. If I get what I want, I will leave this woman with no hope at all. In time, Miura and Yuigahama might find somebody who will become important to them. The chances of Yukinoshita finding a man she can trust, a man she can share her twisted childhood, family history, her hopes and dreams with, are practically zero. It is either Hachiman or nobody for her. And I plan to take Hachiman away.

I tell myself that she is incapable of reaching out to him. That even if I leave them as they are now Yukinoshita will still probably never connect with him. That the friendship all three have with Hachiman can survive only if somebody from outside their circle claims him.

But I know these are just excuses. I pursue Hachiman not for their sake but for mine. I mean to have him because not having him is unthinkable.

"Why do you tell me this?" Yukinoshita says after a long silence.

Hypocritical to the bitter end. Well, one hypocrisy deserves another.

"You are one of his oldest… friends. I hoped that you would like to see him happy. That I might count on your advice and support."

Her hands clench, and she looks at me with the first pure and undisguised emotion I have ever seen her display. Hate.

"That is not something I can support, Tsurumi-san. I don't think Hikigaya-kun is the right man for you. More importantly, I don't think you have the necessary qualities." In your mind, there is nobody, really, who will ever be good enough for him. Not even you.

"I am sorry to hear that," _I don't care._ "I will certainly take your opinion into consideration." _I don't care._

"I must warn you that I don't consider this conversation confidential. I will talk to Hikigaya-kun about this and offer my opinion," Yukinoshita says primly.

"You are welcome to," I smile. "In fact, it would be disappointing if you didn't. Talk is what you are so good at." Her hands clench even harder, but I can read nothing in her eyes. They are shuttered and guarded, and I know I will not exchange a friendly word with this girl ever again.

You are late, Yukinoshita. You have observed, suspected and doubted, but now it is just too late. There is not enough time for your opinions, your rumours and your poison whispered in Hachiman's ear to work. The rock is tumbling down the hillside, and no amount of talk is going to stop it.

You might talk to the other two, you might try to do something together. But you three don't have a great history when it comes to talking openly about your feelings, do you?

I turn to leave, my hand already reaching for the door when I hear a word whispered behind.

"Schemer."

I stop, turn around and walk towards Yukinoshita. I tower over her, but she doesn't flinch.

I speak deliberately, clearly.

"Coward."

She does, now.

It is not before I am outside that I manage to breathe normally. But there are still miles to go before I sleep.

"Miura-senpai, hello. I was wondering if we could meet this morning. It is a matter of some urgency."

* * *

It is the best place to be. A shelter, an island. An ark. Hachiman's apartment when he is working, and I am just hanging around, doing my own stuff, not making a noise, just… being. Daydreaming about should-have-beens.

I sit in his only big armchair, legs dangling over the side, surfing on my tablet. Hachiman is behind me, on his desktop, typing away, completely immersed in work. I don't interrupt, don't even look his way. His presence is enough.

Occasionally, rarely, I indulge myself and activate the front-facing camera to check out on him over my shoulder. I don't think he even knows that is possible. Hachiman is not exactly a tech geek. I am sure he wouldn't mind the few photos I take.

In the meantime I do… scheming, as a certain ice queen would say. Issue instructions to Service Club members, write an email or two, or even, like right now, post a vicious comment about Yukinoshita's latest article. Hachiman finds them funny, those scathing posts signed 'Icarus' that mock her passive, useless rich girl's idealism. I don't think he would think them that witty if he knew they were mine.

His phone rings, and he mumbles something. It takes him half a minute to decide to pick up. It is Yuigahama, and I can hear that Hachiman is getting more annoyed by the minute. He ends the conversation with a curt "yeah, ok, Friday evening", but the sound of typing does not resume.

"She wants to have a dinner, too," he says, mostly to himself.

I turn on the camera. He is looking through the window, a frown on his face.

"All three of them insist on meeting me, all three want to have a dinner and all three want it to be in private," his gaze lingers on my back. He would have looked away already if we were speaking face to face.

That means dining with Yukinoshita tomorrow, first, as always, Miura the day after and Yuigahama on Friday. I don't have much time left.

"You wouldn't have any idea what is happening? Since I am stumped."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," I reply lazily, still swiping away at my tablet.

"Yeah, me neither… what?" That got his attention.

"It might have something to do with me telling all three of them that I plan to ask you out on a date." If his eyes get any bigger, I think they will float away and start a life of their own.

"You did what?! Are you crazy?" I really don't like that shiver in his voice.

"Why? I told you I intended to try and do better the next time." His face on the tablet screen shows a growing desperation that I don't think he would ever allow me to see.

"Are you totally irresponsible?! Don't you care about other people? About what might happen?" Hachiman is getting angry now, but nowhere near as angry as me.

"And what _exactly_ might happen? What do you expect them to do that scares you so much?" I turn around, and he finally sees my face. Whatever angry rant he was preparing dies on his lips.

"I-I don't know," he stumbles and looks away, blushing. I am not surprised. The sight of Hachiman lying to me, to himself, about something this important makes _me_ choke with shame.

"They… they might be… displeased," he tries again and manages to look just as pathetic. No mean feat.

"And that is why all three must see you separately? So they can voice their _displeasure_ three times?" I can see the cuts I am inflicting, and his pain hurts me, too, but lancing this particular boil was long overdue.

"So this is your solution?" Hachiman looks at me long and hard. His falseness has grown out of love for others, not some weakness of his character. He won't lie to protect himself, but he will lash out to defend his friends.

The time is not yet right to push him to the brink. He is not desperate enough.

"Look, I am not saying that… whatever emotions are involved are not real. Not _genuine_." Despite the softness of my tone, he grimaces at that word. "But the whole twisted arrangement is fake. Has been fake for years."

"So you now come like some girl-shaped wrecking ball to smash a fake arrangement with your fake proposal?" Hachiman fights for people he loves. Even for those he doesn't. He only never fights for himself.

"My proposal is not fake." I look him in the eyes with every shred of composure I can gather. "I really intend to ask you out."

"Why would I even consider it? Replacing a fake arrangement that has a genuine sentiment at its core with something equally fake that has a fake sentiment at its core?" His eyes have grown frighteningly calm, too. The monster of logic.

I want to scream at him. To shout in his face all the things I have kept repressed for years.

But words will never convince the likes of him. Only actions can. And this is neither the time nor the place.

I turn my back on Hachiman and pick up the tablet. It is time to go home. I stop in the doorway, my back to him.

"The sentiment is not entirely fake, either. I don't find you… unappealing." I hate this timid channelling of a high-school crush. But that is a language he understands, he is familiar with. It will keep him feel comfortable and in control for what little time remains.

I wait for his answer, which, naturally, never comes. The small smile I don't let him see leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Goodbye, Hachiman. See you in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

We walk side by side, in silence, as is our custom. I look at him sideways, and can't shake the feeling that this might be the last time we walk together like this. Today, everything changes. With my luck, probably for the worse.

Hachiman looks troubled, and I don't blame him. Tonight he is having a dinner with Yukinoshita, tomorrow and the day after with Miura and Yuigahama. Although he still pretends that he doesn't know what they are going to say it is painfully obvious. All three know I plan to ask him out. All three are worried that he might say yes. Now they are scrambling, against me and against each other, to tell him how they feel. Before it is too late.

Their fragile, twisted relationship is tottering. The moment one of them says the fateful words the balance will be gone. If this goes wrong, even their precious friendship is at risk. They might lose everything. I might lose everything. But I always believed that an end in terror is preferable to terror without end.

After all, isn't this what Hachiman told me was his recipe for saving me, back in that summer camp? When I was floundering as a social outcast. If something is wrong with your relationships, then just destroy those relationships, and your worries will disappear. You should practice what you preach, Hachiman.

Excuses, rationalisations, fear, anxiety. Just a waste of time and energy. This is not like me at all. I should focus on things that need doing, not regrets.

"Are you ok with this?" I ask, just to see how angry he is.

"I promised, didn't I?" More worried than angry. He never could stay angry at me for long.

Hachiman rarely promises things but delivers when he does.

"You really dressed up for this occasion," he eyes my elegant shoes visible below the hem of the bizarre long coat. I still stumble in the damned things.

"Well, it is the first Service Club to be opened at Chiba University. Quit fidgeting, I did all the work, you only have to deliver the speech." He looks at me in wide-eyed terror for a moment, until I smile. It is good to see Hachiman chuckle again.

We are almost at the front entrance, and there are enough students to start slowing us down. I nod to some people I recognise, and they nod back.

Hachiman suddenly stops. There is a girl coming our way, going against the flow of people, lugging a heavy cello. She stops in front of us, looks at Hachiman, places the cello on the ground and pulls the bow across the strings.

The crystal clear sound has no place here and people around us begin to stop. The girl continues to play, and I recognise the tune now. He looks at her, then tries going around. Not two steps later an older guy pulls a violin from underneath his jacket and stands in front of Hachiman. A woman with an oboe approaches from the side. The music grows stronger.

There is now a circle of people around us, some smiles, some confused faces, a lot of mobile phones in the air. Windows start opening on the university building, students and teachers peering out.

I see Service Club deputy president Tokuda elbowing people away to make room for three singers. Beethoven's Ode to Joy is now rolling over us in a powerful wave, and I feel the first stinging of tears.

I put my coat in the hands of another Service Club member and take a deep breath. Hachiman is standing a few strides in front, his back to me, completely frozen for the last minute or so. I can't see his face, and that frightens me. But I look at my hands, and they are steady. I can do this.

The last several years, my whole adult life so far, have led to this moment. After everything I have done, destroyed his brotherly feelings, smashed his uneasy relationship with the three Ys, this last act is strangely guileless.

It is not about forcing him to choose between me and my social suicide, though he might see it that way. It is just a simple and utter rejection of his self-deprecation and lack of trust in himself.

The beautiful music flows around as I make a step forward. Faces start turning towards me and, finally, Hachiman turns, too. His eyes, narrowed in suspicion, suddenly go wide and his lips make an almost comical o shape.

For the first time in my life, I am wearing a dress. I spent the remainder of my savings after paying for the music on what everybody tells me is a beautiful mid-calf model, white with red and brown stripes, which 'accentuates my figure, black hair and eyes'. I didn't understand half of the stuff they said, but the way Hachiman's eyes are firmly fixed on me and the blush he is sporting fill me with hope that at least the dress was not a mistake.

I stumble another step forward in my elegant shoes and bring out the rose I kept behind my back. I am relieved to see that my death grip hasn't snapped the stem. The music, the smiling faces, it all becomes a blur, and I see only him clearly.

I drop to one knee, the dress be damned, and raise my hand to Hachiman and there, in the extended and utterly pale, but still steady hand, is a red rose. His face is full of shock and alarm, but there is also some other feeling there, and it gives me hope.

I know he never could believe people cared about him. I know about the emotional baggage he carries. I know he would never trust my words alone. So if I have to scream that I love him, I will do that. If I have to make a fool out of myself in public to convince him that I mean it I will do that. Without a second thought.

I smile, through the wetness rolling down my cheeks. I hope it is a nice, calm smile, but I don't think it really is.

I look at his face, the face I have loved for so long and never touched. Might still never touch, ever. And I feel an immense relief. I've done what I could. Now it is up to him. Whatever happens, I will know that I have at least tried.

Hachiman's face is serious, but his eyes are kind. He steps closer, and there is no distance between us any more. He kneels and hugs me and the warmth of his lips brushing my cheek burns in a long line to my ear.

He whispers. Despite the music, I hear every word clearly, distinctly.

"I always wanted to tell you. When you sit in that chair back at my place, everything you do on your screen is reflected in the window behind you."

The burning on my cheek stops, and I don't need to hear his footsteps or see the shocked faces to know that he is gone.


	5. Chapter 5

I ran.

I ran for my life. Or, at least, for what was left of it.

I ran through the early Chiba morning, through a park and past opening food stalls, merchants nodding and waving. I used to wave back, but not anymore. I have been running for four years, and finally, I know how close to my goal I am. But still, I never stop.

As always, I pause in front of the last big shop window, gasping for air, the shirt plastered to my torso. His street is just up the hill. I check the reflection again. My body is getting thinner, but I never really cared about looks. No reason to, anymore.

I tug at the hem of my shirt once again, turn around, and run downhill.

Music in my ears is loud enough to drown out all the noise, and I run through the morning and into the early afternoon, street after street, city block after city block. I lose my meagre breakfast about the twentieth kilometre, but that is fine. I drink plenty of water.

There are university lectures today, and I haven't missed a single day since, so I return to my apartment an hour early. I go through the email, most from my Service Club friends. I reply to every single one, meticulously and carefully, yet every day the emails sound more frantic. I shower, choke down some food and walk to the university.

There are whispers and glances, but fewer than yesterday and I am sure that tomorrow there will be fewer still. Not that I really care about whispers. I was never going to win a miss popularity contest anyway. And, to be honest, there are fewer rumours than I expected. Hachiman would never believe it, but he has an enduring reputation at Chiba University for being pursued by three prettiest students throughout his stay here. A fourth joining them surprised nobody.

The lecture hall is crowded, and some unknown guy gives me his seat. People's kindness is always a surprise to me. Says a lot about me, I guess.

I take notes diligently, asking questions where appropriate. When the lecture ends, I say my goodbyes and walk home. By the time I arrive it is dark already, and I am tired, but I am not tired enough.

I go for another run, and stumble back late, completely exhausted. It is worth every step, though, as I undress and shower on autopilot and just fall into my bed. No memories, no thoughts, nothing. Just a blank mind that sinks into a dreamless sleep without a ripple.

The terror comes before sunrise, when I wake up, and my aching body won't go back to sleep. I refuse to move, refuse to open my eyes, but it doesn't help. My mind slides into an all too familiar cycle of memories, emotions, regrets, and the only thing I can do is keep repeating a flimsy prayer - another day has passed, and I am one day closer to the moment when all this will finally stop. When I will be drained of both the emotion and the hurt.

And the worst part, the part of me that I hate the most, is that I both eagerly await and dread that day. Once this particular emotion is lost it will never be regained, and I will become less, in every way.

The alarm clock finally, mercifully rings, and an hour later I am running through the early Chiba morning.

* * *

Every once in awhile, something different happens. A phone call, a brush with a car, a bruising fall.

The day looks just like the others until a familiar face emerges from the crowd of students in front of the university building.

"Tsurumi-chan. Good morning."

I stop. There is still some time until the lectures start. "Komachi-san. I didn't expect to see you here." Komachi studies in Tokyo and I have no idea what she is doing in Chiba halfway through the semester.

"You are a difficult girl to get a hold of. Your friends wouldn't give me your phone number." I am surprised they gave you the time of day when they heard your name. But you could have asked your brother and his friends.

There is the barest of half-hearted smiles on her face, and even that slips away when she looks at me closer.

"You look… different." It is not difficult to guess what she really wanted to say. But I don't have patience for social niceties. Never did.

"I don't have a lot of time Komachi-san. I don't mean it in a bad way," I don't mean it in a good way, either, "but what do you want?"

Komachi winces at the tone but doesn't look surprised. "Something is happening with Hachiman and he won't say a thing." Hachiman won't talk about his problems? I am shocked.

"I tried talking to Yui, Yukinoshita and Miura but they were almost rude to me." Things must have changed a great deal if they dare be rude to you. Being nice to the precious sister is something they used to compete over.

"None of them has talked to my brother for days, apparently, and I have a feeling they are not talking to each other, either." Komachi's hands are making anxious little circles, and it distracts and annoys me more than it should.

"How is that my problem?" I glance at the building entrance. These disruptions to my routine are most unwelcome. I force my fists to unclench, but there is nothing to be done about the sweat that is prickling on my neck.

"Onii-chan is… I've never seen him this miserable. Not even in the middle school." She looks at me with the hope that is misplaced in the extreme. Her answer has nothing to do with my question. Perhaps she didn't hear me the first time.

"How is that my problem?" I try to sound kind and understanding. Komachi's eyes widen, so perhaps I am a bit off my mark.

"I-I know that something happened between you and my brother." There are Youtube videos about it, woman. Everybody and their dog know. Get to the point.

"He hasn't been replying to my messages, hasn't been working, just spends all day long in his apartment. I moved there for a few days, but only managed to annoy him and force him to eat a few proper meals. And now I have to return to Tokyo, and he looks worse than ever." There are tears in Komachi's eyes.

"I am sure they will work something out in the end." Or not. I really have to go.

"It is not that simple." Komachi looks at me, then away. "The only time he gets a bit more lively is in the morning, at the time when you used to come. He shuffles around, sits in his chair, even types away on his computer a bit. Later he just drifts off."

"His phone shows dozens of missed calls. It rings all the time, and he always checks who is calling, but never answers." She looks at me with wide eyes, like she is imparting some deep secret.

"I am sorry, Komachi-san, but I have to go. I will be late for my lecture." I really have no patience for a psychoanalysis of every big brother's twitch and frown. I move to leave, but she blocks my way. She could teach her onii-chan a thing or two about assertiveness.

"Just a minute more, please." There is desperation in her voice, and I relent. I have learned to empathise with desperate people lately. "What I am trying to say is that I suspect my brother's problems are mostly related to you."

Don't. I've done some bad things but surely nothing to deserve this. It is only when I reach out to the anger bubbling below the surface that I manage to draw a breath.

It takes an effort to force words through my clenched teeth. "I never took you for a cruel person, Komachi-san."

"Whatever fantasy you are living in, whatever things you imagine, what do you expect me to do about them?" I step forward into her personal space, and she steps back. I poke her in the chest. Hard.

"What do you think I can do to help? Perhaps be _open_ about my emotions? Tell your brother how I _really_ feel?" It comes out as a snarl. I barely restrain myself from pushing her back. It is not her fault. It is nobody's fault but my own.

"I was hoping… " Komachi stammers but gets a hold of herself. She is not easy to intimidate, I'll give her that. "I was hoping that you could find a way to be friends again."

I am so surprised that a bark of a laugh escapes me. "It was never possible for us to be friends." I step by her and this time Komachi remains still.

Halfway to the entrance I stop. I don't turn to see whether she can hear me. "I would rather die than become his fourth _friend_." Not that I see much difference. One is just a more painful and prolonged version of the other.

The door finally closes behind me and, if I hurry, I can still make the lecture in time. I round the corner and lean against the wall, breathing heavily. I raise my hand and feel a pang of disgust at the way it trembles. That must have set me back ten days at least.

The damned Hikigayas will be the death of me.


	6. Chapter 6

I walk out of my front door and straight into the sight of a familiar hunched figure sitting on the stairs to the upper floor. A can of coffee in his lap, an unopened one on the step beside. It is so early that there is barely any light outside and I wonder how long he has been waiting.

I knew this day was coming ever since Komachi's visit, but I am not ready. There are things you are never ready for.

Hachiman stands up, wincing, and walks down the stairs, extending the unopened can of coffee, like some kind of a weird peace offering. His strange eyes keep darting away and returning, the way I am so used to, but the rhythm is new, and every time the gaze is back on my face it lingers longer. With the progress we are making he might look me straight in the eyes sometime next century.

"Rumi. You've... looked better." Hachiman, you charmer, you. Though you don't look so hot, either. The face is drawn and the eyes even more exhausted than usual.

"It's good to see you." I'd smile, but my lips feel rusty, and there is little to smile about, really.

Hachiman takes a deep breath. "I am sorry, Rumi." He looks around like he expects one of my neighbours to appear at this time of day.

"Sorry for what?" He can surprise me still.

"The whole… music event thing."

"Why should you be apologising? I organised the whole thing, confessed and got my reply. Nothing for you to feel sorry about."

Silence. Of course. Nothing of importance ever gets said.

"Hachiman. Why are you here?" I didn't mean to sound so harsh.

"We've managed to patch things up, I and the others. At least I think we have. We are talking to each other again. It seems there is at least something salvageable." He sounds more relaxed now. Slipping into his old role. Fixing things, saving people. Case solved.

"Good for you. Not that I care. Why are you here?" This time the harshness is deliberate.

"I was thinking… " he looks at me, then away, "perhaps we can find an understanding, too, Rumi. It is a bit too quiet without you and your prattle. Perhaps it wouldn't be too much to hope that we could be friends again?" Never knew you considered me a friend, Hachiman.

"I don't think we can." I really wish this cold tone away from my voice. But it has been too long since we spoke and the frost has set in. "I don't want to be friends with you. I never did. I thought I was clear about that back then, with all the kneeling, and the music, and the rose." We both wince at the memory.

"Is that so." Hachiman trails off, averting his eyes again.

"It is bloody so! And will you please look me in the eyes, at least for these five minutes after a full month of not seeing each other?" He stumbles back in surprise, almost tripping over the bottom of the stairs.

"Rumi, your neighbours might hear us". At least he is looking at me now.

"I couldn't care less. If this goes wrong what my neighbours think will be the least of my worries." His eyes widen, and I know too much of my anger and frustration are showing.

For years I have been watching the four of them spin in their careful, choreographed dance of veiled looks and whispers. They ended up at the same place where they started. That will not happen to me. Whatever mistakes I make will be my own.

"Rumi, I can understand a teenage obsession, I had them myself. We all went through a stage where we were infatuated with somebody older." Now he is going to pretend this is all some high-school fantasy?

"Idiot. Shut up and listen." I step closer and smirk as Hachiman looks around. There is no way to back out of this except up the stairs, and I don't think he will just turn and run. Not from me. Cornered like a rat, he looks straight at me, and there is defiance smouldering in his eyes, too.

"I have loved you since I was fifteen. A bit too long for a teenage crush, wouldn't you say? Whatever happens here, I don't think I will ever love somebody that way. Not if I live to be a hundred. And don't tell me that you didn't know because you must have felt it. The way I looked at you, the way I would stop breathing at every random touch. I am good at hiding things, but I am not that good." I reach out and grab his shoulders, pulling him closer. There is a deep blush creeping up his neck. Good.

"And don't you dare tell me I am too young. I am a university student now and dating me would raise no eyebrows. Since that music spectacle last month you can't even pretend that you don't know what I feel." I take a deep breath. No. I am done with coyness. That is their way.

"You can't pretend you don't know I love you. You can't hide behind the _displeasure_ of your _friends_ , either," I spit his words back at him, "since now you know they lust after you more than I do."

"So, Hachiman, there is nothing to stop you. Unless you are a coward. Like your _friends_." I couldn't hide my contempt even if I wanted.

"I see only two paths from here. You can tell me that you love me back. Then I am going to kiss you," and I lean forward until our faces nearly touch, my breath hot on his lips with every spoken word. "Then we can go back through that door to my apartment and kiss some more. I would like to have sex, too, if you are not sworn to celibacy." I smile at the way he gasps, softly, his shoulders shivering under my fingers. The forgotten can of coffee drops from his hand and rolls. Neither of us spares it a glance.

"Or you can tell me that you don't love me." My smile is gone. The words pass my lips easily but many sleepless nights lie in wait behind them.

"That is fair, too. I won't try anymore. If you don't love me by now, you never will. I will walk down those stairs and hope I never see you again." Only one thing remains to be said.

Pulling away from his lips takes an effort of will, but I do it, leaving him some breathing space.

"Hachiman, I love you," I say solemnly, feeling both ridiculous and terrified.

I know this will take time, that hundreds of things are passing through his head. The age difference, the way my friends will look at me, reasons why am I doing this, my ulterior motives, my tender and impressionable mind, what all this will mean to his significant others. He thinks of everything, really, except his own feelings and needs.

Looking at his face from this distance is mesmerising. His eyes dart around, like those of a little animal in a trap. I can feel his arms twitch and I know he would be fleeing if not for my hands gripping him. He can't flee so he has to fight something, and I can only hope it won't be me.

Time passes and Hachiman calms down, but his eyes studiously avoid mine. His voice is barely more than a whisper.

"I care about you."

They tell you people change. But they lie.

I release his arms and he finally looks at me, and there is surprise in that gaze, but a tinge of hurt betrayal, too, I think.

I take a step back and his right hand spasms, like a part of him wants to reach out to me. Not a very big, very important part, though.

Turning around and taking that first step is so hard that I don't believe I can do it until it is done. I am stepping away from what I used to be, after all. The second step is… not easier but more natural. There is nothing to do after the first step but take the second.

I am going down the stairs when I hear a gasp behind. I turn. Hachiman hasn't moved, but the intensity of his gaze beckons me back.

"I do not… dislike you," he murmurs, and I can barely hear him.

Changing himself means just admitting defeat in order to adapt. A thing he will never do. Well, I have done my best, and my best was just not good enough. A lesson we all have to learn sooner or later.

A cold wind is blowing outside, and I look up and down the empty street. Suddenly, there is a sound, and I freeze completely. Running footsteps echo down the hallway and a fierce hope blossoms so suddenly that I have to lean against the doorway. But the echo fades away, if it was ever there in the first place.

What can only be a bitter smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. No last moment save for the likes of me.

I will never be free of him. I know that now.

But I can live with that.

I slowly jog, then run, then sprint down the street and into the morning sun. Everything looks blurry, but that will pass soon enough.


	7. Epilogue

A/N Reborn as a Hot Spring wanted to see how it ends. Be careful what you wish for.

* * *

The rain comes hard on the windshield, and the wipers can't keep up. I don't mind. The driver keeps to himself, John holds my sweaty hand, and I can still pretend that there is nothing worth thinking about behind the curtain of rain.

"So, this is your hometown," John's warm smile makes my involuntary shudder easier to bear. He squeezes my hand. After six months I still can't get used to his open displays of affections. They are nice, but returning them takes an effort. You can take the girl out of Japan, but you can't take Japan out of the girl.

"You didn't visit your family once in all the time we've been together. I've started thinking you didn't want them to meet a gaijin like me." He looks at me like he expects a reaction.

All the time we've been together? Six months? I haven't gone back to Chiba in nine years. Not everything is about you, John.

"Makuhari Messe, madam," the driver says, and I take a deep breath. From the moment I step out, no matter what happens, I must show no weakness. Not to John, not to others. Once this evening is over I must still be able to live with myself and with the memories I make.

I step out of the car before the driver can open my door. The big, modern, ugly building is bathed in light. I've a feeling I am not in San Francisco anymore. I can smell wicked witches in the air.

We join the line of well-dressed people waiting to get in. I look around, but there is nobody I recognise. Thank heavens for small mercies.

"Look," John nods towards a big poster above the entrance. "Is that your friend, the writer? Would you recognise him?"

Oh, yes, I would, John. It has been almost ten years, but Hachiman looks the same. His hair a bit longer, the eyes still world-weary, a ghost of a smile on the lips, the new book in his hands. A discreet logo of the Yukinoshita publishing company at the bottom. Everything has changed, but he remains the same. He always refused to change for the world, but it seems he will not change for the time, either.

"Tsurumi-sama?" a soft voice almost makes me jump. A uniformed attendant is standing by my side, his head inclined politely.

"Yes." My voice is calmer than I feel.

"Would you, please, come with me? There is no need for you to wait in line." And he takes John and me past the waiting people and through the entrance, not even bothering to check my gold-embossed invitation.

I still recall the feeling of dread on that sunny San Francisco morning, a single luxurious envelope waiting on the wide, dark, glossy expense of my desk at Ollen&Avery. Receiving an actual, physical letter was strange enough, but, below the Latin script address, my name was written in kanji characters, obviously by a master calligrapher.

I don't know how long I kept looking at that spotless white rectangle, and its promise of pain, before I took it, carefully, like handling poison, and dropped it in the shredder.

Another letter arrived a few months later. That one I opened. It was an invitation for the presentation of Hachiman's latest book, and it died in shredder's sharp teeth, too. I got blind drunk that evening.

The third arrived last week.

So here I am. I know that coming here can only end in pain and regret. But not coming would have ended the same way. The devil and the deep blue sea. Nothing to be done about it. The choices that led here were made years ago.

And the invitations are a challenge, after all. Did I manage to build a life on the ruins of the old one? We will see, Hachiman. We will see who flinches first.

The attendant ushers us into a big ballroom, already half-full. I've never seen a book presentation like this. Every surface shines, every staff member smiles politely, the food is discrete but plentiful, and the guests are Chiba's richest and most powerful. Far too extravagant for a book author, even a successful one. I can feel certain woman's iron will and limitless resources behind it.

John looks impressed, and that annoys me. I know we won't be alone for long and looking impressed gives the other side an advantage I can't afford.

"It is a point of etiquette here to look indifferent and bored," I say as I watch a group of particularly well-dressed people head our way, led by the same attendant who brought us here. "Try to look the part."

I can feel his sidelong glance. "You never cared about etiquette back in the States." It might be my tone or my words, but his face is impassive and cool, and that is all I need.

The group reaches us, and the officials, politicians, corporate executives and councillors unfurl like petals, revealing what was hidden in the centre. What I knew was coming from the day I saw that envelope on my desk.

It is Yukino Yukinoshita, her elegant dress both demure and extravagant, her face smooth and calm, the midnight black hair showing a few silver strands that only make her look more exotic. Yukinoshita's eyes are as unforgiving as ever, her faint smile sharp, cold, and curled in distaste.

"Tsurumi-san," she looks at John, "I see you finally found a man desperate enough. My congratulations."

"Yukinoshita-san. You look great. I can only hope to look so well preserved when I am your age. How is your family? Are you still in touch with them?" John doesn't understand much, but he can see Yukinoshita's hanger-ons recoil in shock.

Her teeth still show behind the rictus of a smile. "Haven't lost any of that fake innocent girl's charm, I see. Still running? That is a solid lap, even for you, first running away to San Francisco and now running back home. Took you some time, but here you are. A full circle."

"Yukinoshita-san, even today I feel like a little girl compared to your mature charm. I particularly admired your taste. You always had the best friends… I mean acquaintances money could buy. Are your boyfriends similarly high-priced? Or is it a husband these days?" The last of her lackeys are drifting off, their faces carefully neutral. Hearing things like this said to a Yukinoshita is never good for your career.

Ten years ago, after _that_ happened, everything started falling apart. Friends turned on each other, took sides, the Service Club against its founders. Ultimately, my parents relented and allowed me to transfer to a US school. But Yukinoshita obviously never forgot or forgave. I thought at least I had. I thought I was better than this.

Still, it is almost comforting to see that some emotions never change, no matter how many years pass.

Yukinoshita's face is composed, but terribly pale, only her cheeks flushed a deep red. She takes an actual step towards me, fists clenched, and I am happy, no, _eager_ , to meet her halfway.

A hand grips my shoulder, and I turn to meet John's worried gaze. "Won't you introduce me to your… friend, Rumi?"

By the time I take a deep breath Yukinoshita is back in her impeccable shell. Her English is nearly perfect.

"I am Yukinoshita Yukino. Tsurumi-san and I used to have common acquaintances when she was in her high school." There are total strangers more intimate than what you describe.

"This is John Ryson, my boyfriend," I say, and John bows, but his smile is strained, and the empty conversation limps along like a dying horse.

I keep waiting for Yukinoshita to leave, there must be many things requiring her august attention. But she stays on, casting furtive glances towards the entrance, and I know that she is not done with me.

Finally, Yukinoshita's head jerks to the right, like a string is pulled, her eyes lock onto something with a single-minded intensity, and her whole face lights up. I have ever seen her come alive like this for one person, and I hope, desperately and earnestly, for her sake and mine, that something has changed, that she has moved on somewhere, _anywhere_ , with her life.

John stops mid-sentence and follows her gaze and, with those two staring over my shoulder, I have no choice but to turn, although I know, with absolute certainty, what I am going to see.

It is a group of people, and some of them I know, and they are threading their way through the crowd, and Yukinoshita is waving them over. None of that matters at all. Hachiman is among them. Older, his hair longer, but the same Hachiman I first saw in that dreary summer camp, the same I chatted with all those happy mornings in his apartment, the same that smashed my life into pieces so tiny that I still haven't found them all.

Memories keep flooding back like a dam has burst, and I know something embarrassing is going to happen. I will yell, or wave, or gasp. So I keep still, not moving a muscle. I just need a few seconds to get my mind working, to get my breath back.

Hachiman looks our way, stops, and the group stops with him. I can't see his expression from this distance, but he doesn't move for long seconds. _I know the feeling._ He finally jerks into action, turns the other way. His back is now to me, disappearing slowly into the crowd, and I finally breathe out. I can't even say whether the feeling washing over me is relief tinged with bitterness or the other way around.

The crowd suddenly parts again, and Hachiman reappears, coming back, striding our way, the others trailing behind. I have mere seconds, but I am ready by the time he reaches us. Or as ready as I am ever going to be.

"Rumi," his eyes sweep over the others and go back to me, unreadable. "It is a surprise to see you here."

"Nobody is more surprised than I am, Hachiman. Sometimes things just happen." Sometimes all you can do is go with the flow and hope you miss the rocks.

Yukinoshita drifts to a frail-looking woman standing by Hachiman, hovering, almost touching her, in a way I can describe only as protective. And very unlike her.

"Allow me to introduce Mayako Hikigaya. _Mrs_ Mayako Hikigaya," she repeats, in English. The way Yukinoshita bares her teeth wouldn't be out of place on one of those small, fierce, utterly merciless predators. "Hikigaya-kun's wife." Her eyes never leave my face.

As an attempt at intrigue it is pathetic. It might just work, on somebody as isolated as Yukinoshita is. But anybody who follows Japanese literature, let alone a person who, speaking purely hypothetically, has news alerts set to a certain name, could hardly miss details about his family life.

I turn to _Mrs Hikigaya_. I am calm and composed, a ready smile on my face. This is something I have been rehearsing since I boarded the plane. I start to speak, but my mind suddenly stutters, every thought blanketed out by a scream in my head.

 _My name! It should have been me! How dare you!_

A whinging, entitled, pathetic little girl's voice. I believed it long gone.

"N-nice to meet you. I am Tsurumi Rumi, Hachiman's… acquaintance. This is my boyfriend, John Ryson." I studiously avoid looking at Hachiman's face. I fear he might react. I fear he might not. Better not to look.

My first impression was wrong. Mayako Hikigaya is not frail, she is delicate. And if I ever thought Yukinoshita and Yuigahama truly beautiful I stand corrected. Young, a lot younger than Hachiman, Mayako is slim and petite, pale to the point of translucence, her hair so black that the colour can only be natural. But those are just words that apply to hundreds of girls. Mayako radiates the flawless beauty of a heavily edited front page model. Seeing someone like that in real life is surreal, is unfair. Like having coffee with a fairy tale character.

She smiles, and the smile is so kind and guileless that I smile back, despite myself.

"Oh, I heard of you, Tsurumi-san. Hachiman and Yukinoshita-senpai mention you sometimes when they think I can't hear them. You are a part of their mysterious past," she actually giggles and Yukinoshita, Hachiman and I exchange what must be the world's most awkward series of glances.

"I like meeting Hachiman's old friends," she continues, so oblivious that my eyes narrow in suspicion for a moment. "He has so few of them. And the ones he has are the best friends in the world." Mayako takes Yukinoshita's hand and smiles.

"Indeed, I don't know what I would do without Yukinoshita-senpai and Yuigahama-senpai," she says, and I interrupt before another wave of love and adoration washes over me.

"Speaking of which, is Yuigahama here?" My voice sounds rough and uncouth, even to me.

"Oh, she is back home," Mayako replies, "taking care of Shiori. Aunt Yui is really spoiling her rotten, though Yukinoshita-senpai is no better. I sometimes think that we are taking advantage of both of you," and she bows to Yukinoshita, "but you enjoy spending time with Shiori so much!"

"Nonsense. I couldn't care more for her if she was my own." Yukinoshita smiles, sounding so in earnest that I shudder.

"Shiori is our daughter. She is two," Hachiman explains to no one in particular, though I suspect I am the only one that doesn't know. "Our babysitter is sick, so Yuigahama offered to help."

I keep silent, just barely. The whole thing sounds so creepy that I wouldn't be surprised to hear that Miura is doing their laundry.

"They are always there for us," Mayako continues, "They are family, really," and I am not at all sure whether the slight ripple of a grimace passing across Hachiman's face was just a play of light.

"I am grateful to you for many things, Yukinoshita-senpai. But most of all for introducing me to Hachiman," Mayako's eyes shine when she looks at him. If love was a radiation we would all have to be treated for an overdose.

"Yes, we are all thankful to Yukinoshita," Hachiman says, blandly, and, somehow, incredibly, Mayako keeps on smiling. Yukinoshita doesn't.

"But, more importantly, Rumi, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company. It has been, what, ten, fifteen years?" Hachiman's eyes finally turn my way, and the emotion in them is something I never saw him direct at me.

"I am not sure how long it has been myself, Hachiman. Time just flies when I am away from here." He winces, almost too fast to notice. The wan smile that follows is even worse. Whatever else we've lost the ability to hurt each other survives intact. Naturally.

His eyes drift to John. "I see you brought a friend."

"A boyfriend, Hachiman."

"He must not know you very well."

"Oh, he knows me well indeed," I smirk, and Hachiman's face goes pale and taut, his eyes cold.

"Why are you here, Rumi? Nobody misses you." The pain is sharp, crisp, clean, like a needle going all the way through me. _I know nobody does._ Still, anger wells up.

"You are the one to ask me that? After all those invitations you sent?!" My voice is rising, and people in groups around us start turning.

"Invitations? Is this again one of your delusions? Like I would ever invite you." There is contempt now on his face, and that hurts far more than anger.

My hand drops into the purse and grabs at random, tissues, keys, makeup spilling out. Finally I have it, the gold, the paper, the words, all crumpled in my hand, as they should have been from the start. I move to throw it in his face, but somebody grips my hand.

It is John. Again.

"Do... not... touch me!" I spit with more venom I ever intended. There is no taking the words back. His hand drops and his face goes from worried to slack with shock.

I throw the invitation on the floor. Nobody moves to pick it up.

"I…" Yukinoshita speaks up, and both Hachiman and I turn to her in perfect synchronicity. She almost recoils but keeps on going. "I invited her."

"You what?" Hachiman's voice is so calm and level that I have to struggle to hear it.

"I invited her, Hikigaya-kun," Yukinoshita is getting paler with each word, but she looks him steadily in the eye. Whatever her faults avoiding responsibility has never been one of them. "Some of our last ten years have been…" and her eyes flick to me "... difficult. But we overcame all the challenges. Together."

"I just wanted her to see how happy we..." and she goes silent, her eyes wide. Hachiman smiles, ever so slightly, but there is no joy in it. "I just wanted her to see how happy you and Mayako were."

Hachiman looks at her in silence that slowly stretches from uncomfortable to unbearable. Yukinoshita somehow grows smaller under that pitiless gaze, but she doesn't avert her eyes. I admire her for that.

"We will talk about this later," Hachiman says, finally, and Yukino Yukinoshita, the powerful, feared, ruthless head of the Yukinoshita conglomerate, just nods meekly and looks away.

He turns to me, and his face comes alive with emotions again. Not the good kind, though.

"This changes nothing. Nobody forced you to come, Rumi."

"I missed you," I pause deliberately, and enjoy the brief flicker of panic in his eyes, "all my old friends."

"It was never possible for us to be friends," he throws my old words back at me, and I wince. He is right. "And you only have two kinds of friends, anyway. Ex-friends and those you haven't stabbed in the back yet."

"I stabbed you in the back? Everything I did was for you! You almost killed me, you sanctimonious, self-absorbed bastard!"

"That is rich coming from you! You ran abroad, like a coward, never called, never wrote, left me to pick up the pieces!" Hachiman's face is all red, his tired eyes no longer tired at all.

"Pieces!" I almost shout and see drops of spittle flying from my lips. I would be embarrassed if the all-consuming rage left room for any other emotion. "You talk to me about pieces! You smashed my life! Twice I told you how I felt and twice you rejected me!"

That is the part that still hurts the most. A broken heart, ruined hopes are one thing. They heal, or at least scab over. But the wounded pride, the humiliation of having to tell Hachiman I loved him _twice,_ and be rejected _twice_ , still burns like it happened yesterday.

"I never rejected you! It is all in your mind, as always. I needed time, but you never had any patience, did you?" Is that how it looks to him? Is he really that delusional?

"You are just a coward, Hachiman. You were always too cowardly to choose, and today you are afraid to face what you did. I told you I loved you." _Twice_. "And you rejected me. I told you I would go away and that is what I did. To save what sanity I had left. You coward."

My eyes are wet, and I blink furiously. I will be damned if I add the image of me crying to the memories of this night that I know will come back to haunt me.

I look around. We are on our own. John is nowhere to be seen, all of Hachiman's companions are gone, there is only a white-faced Yukinoshita tugging at Mayako's arm, dragging her away from the two of us.

I breathe in deeply. We have embarrassed ourselves enough, and I am at least as much to blame as Hachiman. It is unlikely we will ever see each other again, and there is no need to part on worse terms than they already are.

I turn to him, the words of an apology dying on my lips.

Hachiman is close, too close, his hands clenched like he wants to punch me, his eyes burning with anger.

"I don't need you. I don't want you. I have a life now, such as it is. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out from. Go back to fucking Americans, that is what you are best at." There is malice in his smile I never believed him capable of.

"Better than fucking a porcelain doll while thinking of somebody else," I whisper back.

Hachiman freezes in mid-sentence. Slowly, ever so slowly, the rage drains from his face. He is still looking at me, but his eyes are focusing on somewhere else. Or, possibly, sometime else. I can follow brief flickers of hurt, shame and realisation on that face I know better than my own.

"Oh," one of us whispers, and I will not know who to my dying day.

I didn't mean it that way, Hachiman. I didn't know. I take it back.

I didn't know.

There are a hundred things I want to say, I want to do, but none of them of least help now.

I feel like one of those cartoon characters that takes step after step off a cliff, never noticing. Now I've looked down, and it is a terribly long way to the bottom, and the cliff is so far away.

"I hate you," Hachiman says, clearly and loudly.

And I am falling.

I hate you more, I want to shout back, but it's no use. How do you hurt somebody who hates you by pretending to hate him back?

I look around, and there is nobody in the whole enormous ballroom looking our way, paying any attention to our noisy little drama. Hundreds of people, and they all look elsewhere, anywhere but this way. Somehow, it is more embarrassing than being the centre of attention.

So that's it, then. The end of the affair. Or the end of something, at least. We had _something_ , right?

I look at Hachiman once again, for a long time. This memory will have to last. I don't think I will be seeing him again. Once in a decade has been enough. More than enough if I value my sanity.

"Goodbye, Hachiman." I turn to leave.

"Please," and I freeze. The word is so unlike him that for a moment I think that somebody had snuck up on us.

"When I say I hate you, I mean…" I can see muscles in his neck working, but no words come out.

"What I mean is that, for a long time." Hachiman's mouth snaps suddenly, halfway through the sentence. His fists are clenched, and he keeps leaning towards me, like reducing the physical distance will help in some way.

Seeing him this way is a torture for both of us, and I finally understand romantic stereotypes that require that I run away, right now. It is painful, and it is scary, but I will not leave him standing here, gasping like a fish out of water. I will stay and hear what he has to say.

"I am here, Hachiman." That seems to help. He draws a deep breath and tries again.

"I… I didn't like you from the very start." _What?_

"We were so different. I just couldn't connect, couldn't understand you." I open my mouth, but Hachiman raises his hand.

"Then you revived the Service Club, started coming to me for advice. I really grew to dislike those mornings we spent together, chatting, being around each other. Really detested them." His smile is wistful and sad, and I can't get enough of it.

"When you stopped coming I didn't care. Barely noticed. Nothing changed in my life," his smile grows, and I think I am smiling, too. Strange how quickly smiles feed off each other.

"That is when I knew that I… " and the muscles in his neck go taut again, words stuck in his throat. I touch his hand, the first touch in ten years, one of the precious few ever, and Hachiman looks up at me, startled, his eyes troubled and haunted.

I nod, and he smiles again, even relaxes a bit. I could get used to that smile.

"That is when I knew that I hated you," his smile turns bitter.

"I tried to say it. Wanted to. But saying it, back then, would have meant hurting many people. And there was always the next week, or the next month. Until there wasn't. Until you disappeared, leaving a girl-shaped wrecking ball hole behind." Good to see I am not the only one whose mind is filled with all those memories like an old attic.

"Not that I missed you, or anything. So I continued hating you, and, over the years, perhaps grew to hate you a bit, too. After all, you can't loathe just yourself all the time. You need some company," and it is all so familiar that I barely need to nod my understanding.

"Anyway, there it is. My very own little story of hate and hate." Not exactly just _your_ , is it?

"I wonder whether it happened the same way with all those ordinary people and office slaves I used to mock. You start with an ideal, you try to do the right thing and not hurt people you care about, you make a compromise, then another. And you end up like this," his gaze is steady on me, but I can't resist glancing across the hall, where Mayako is chatting away happily at a tight-lipped Yukinoshita.

It is not exactly an office slave life, Hachiman. But I know what you mean.

So here we are. Something perhaps not very far from the truth finally laid bare. Everything I ever wanted. Inevitably, in the worst possible way.

"Do I need to say it, Hachiman?" After so much time the name is no longer a curse on my lips.

"No, Rumi." The things I would have done once to see him smile like that. "I've heard it two times already. Unless something has changed," the old insecurity comes creeping back, and it is so _him_ that I want to laugh and cry.

"Nothing has changed," and if I didn't know it before this evening, I certainly know it now.

He kept exerting gravitational pull over years and thousands of kilometres. It is a constant. It will never go away. I will just have to find a way to live with that fact. Like an oyster and a grain of sand. Everything smoothes over in time.

"It is getting late, Hachiman." It really isn't, but I can feel poisonous looks. Our many significant others will soon be back to claim us.

"I should be going." Taking my eyes off him is… not easy.

"Will you be coming back soon, Rumi?" He is just asking a question that must be asked. Though we both know the answer, it, too, must be said.

"I don't think so. Frankly, I think that coming back to Japan once in a decade is far too often. All the attention and excitement, you know, I can't really stand them." What we have left are mere minutes together. If that.

"Take care, Rumi." You have no right to look at me that way, Hachiman. Please, never stop.

"See you on the other side, Hachiman." A movement seen from the corner of my eye stops me mid-turn.

He raises his hand in the middle of that sumptuous hall, in front of all those people, and touches my face.

"I never wanted to do this, all these years."

His fingers brush my cheek, drift softly to my ear, exactly where his lips grazed me the single other time, back then, in front of the university. I like to think it is no coincidence.

* * *

The silence in the car is suffocating, yet I hesitate to break it. Far better to watch the rain than to say what needs to be said. My hand traces the line where Hachiman's touch still lingers. The heat it is radiating scalds the fingers, and I have to stop myself from bringing them to my mouth.

John comes to my rescue, as he always does.

"Sou ka." John speaks very little Japanese, but there is no misunderstanding this.

 _'Yes, that's how it is'_ , I think, and the words echo between us, even unsaid.

"You know," he seems to be fascinated by the rain, too, "I always thought it was a cultural thing. Or a purely personal thing. That you had trouble expressing your feelings. That you were less open. I was fine with that." I only see one side of his face, and it is strangely calm, impassive.

"On good days I thought it would just take time. On bad ones I thought you would always love me less than I loved you. I was fine with that, too. Some people's emotions are just more subdued." He turns to me, finally, and his eyes are calm and clear. The eyes of a man who has no more doubts.

"But it is not like that, is it? You are not incapable of deeper feeling. You just can't feel that way _about me_."

He waits, but there is really nothing to say.

"That guy…" he starts, and then, mercifully, thinks better of it.

In the end, he just nods. I expect another "sou ka", but his interest in Japanese seems to be waning.

"Once we drop you off at the hotel I will go straight to the airport." I knew this was coming, but it is still a shock.

"Will you come upstairs to pick up your luggage?" My first words since I entered the car and perhaps they should have been kinder words. But it's not a good evening for kindness.

Something coordinating muscles in John's face fails badly and his attempt to smile ends up twisted and grotesque. I don't think he knows.

"I don't want to step inside that apartment again," he says, and it is my turn to grimace now.

"I am sorry, John." He didn't deserve this.

"It is what it is."

We don't speak again.

* * *

I am dripping water all over the apartment floor, but I had to revisit my old Chiba route one last time. Running past midnight, in my jeans, my best sensible shoes, in the pouring rain. Probably the most rational thing I did tonight.

I take a shower, pack away John's stuff, watch TV, stare through the window. Completely exhausted in more ways than one, I still can't sleep. Welcome back to Chiba, where sleepless nights are guaranteed.

There have been far too many last times tonight. The whole trip to Japan has been like falling down the rabbit hole, revisiting some alternate reality where angles are not right, parallel lines intersect, and old friends still live in mutated, malignant high-school dramas. No wonder John ran away.

I can't wait to get back to San Francisco. Back to my regular, decaf, air conditioned, regimented reality. Where people say what they think and occasionally even think what they say.

I toss and turn in my bed, formerly our bed, when a light somewhere goes on and off. I turn around, but it is gone. Then it is on again. It is coming from the nightstand, where my mobile phone, my _personal_ mobile phone, starts blinking steadily into the darkness. There are very few people who have the number, and none who would send anything at this hour, here or in San Francisco.

I stare at it, and it blinks back. A message. A message. A message.

I sit on that big bed in a warm hotel room, my knees under my chin, arms wrap around them, and still I can't keep myself from shivering. I stare at the blinking light until the morning comes.


End file.
